Tales of Fashionable Life: Manœuvring

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Страница 242 - True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven : It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die ; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.
Страница 182 - ... keep the word of promise to the ear, and break it to the hope" — we have presumed to court the assistance of the friends of the drama to strengthen our infant institution.
Страница 130 - Thy lisping prattle and thy mincing gait, All thy false mimic fooleries I hate, For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she Who is right foolish hath the better plea ; Nature's true Idiot I prefer to thee.— CUMBERLAND.
Страница 23 - Will you hear a Spanish lady How she woo'd an English man ? Garments gay and rich as may be, Decked with jewels, had she on ; Of a comely countenance and grace was she. And by birth and parentage of high degree. As his prisoner there he kept her, In his hands her life did lie ; Cupid's bands did tie her faster, By the liking of an eye ; In his courteous company was all...
Страница 23 - Garments gay, as rich as may be, Deck'd with jewels she had on. Of a comely countenance and grace was she, And by birth and parentage of high degree.
Страница 164 - That keep me from myself, and still delay Life's instant business to a future day ; That task which, as we follow or despise, The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise ; Which done, the poorest can no wants...
Страница 1 - Julia's a manager; she's born for rule; And knows her wiser husband is a fool ; Assemblies holds, and spins the subtle thread That guides the lover to his fair one's bed : For difficult amours can smooth the way, And tender letters dictate, or convey. But if depriv'd of such important cares, Her wisdom condescends to less affairs. For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme...
Страница 130 - Why, Affectation, why this mock grimace? Go, silly thing, and hide that simp 'ring face. Thy lisping prattle, and thy mincing gait, All thy false mimic fooleries I hate; For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she Who is right foolish hath the better plea; Nature's true idiot I prefer to thee. Why that soft languish? Why that drawling tone? Art sick, art sleepy? Get thee...

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